Thursday 23rd April 2026
Happy St George’s Day! Fear not dragon lovers. St George would be more likely to pat a dragon than slay it these days. Times change, my friends. What was de rigueur in AD 303 is no longer acceptable in 2026. Mind you, I secretly wish that armour would come back into fashion. There’s something very sexy about men in metal suits. I like a bit of canned meat.
Dick was supposed to have his carpal tunnel surgery today, but it had to be postponed because he came down with a massive case of the craps on Tuesday and, as he had no idea how long it would last, it was thought expedient to rearrange the surgery. God forbid he shit himself mid-op. It’s now scheduled for May the fourteenth. While not exactly looking forward to it, he’s accepted that surgery is a sensible option, not just for the sake of work, and art, but also for his extracurricular kinky capers. Carpal tunnel syndrome doesn’t align well with bondage activities.
So far, his stomach bug, or whatever it was, hasn’t transferred to either me or Shane, and hopefully it won’t. Dick blamed a dodgy lunchtime sandwich deal from Tesco, a sweaty BLT and a tepid mango snack pot. Shane and me reckon it’s more likely to be down to the stool softeners he swallows to counteract the effects of the codeine he takes for his hand pain. He’s not above scoffing down an extra Dulcoease just to avoid the possibility of constipation. He says he doesn’t want to risk doing an Elvis by straining too hard and having a heart attack on the crapper. It would be too embarrassing, said Mr Kink. I reckon dying on the bog with your pants around your ankles would be less embarrassing than being found dead in the buff, apart from a gimp mask, handcuffs and a mega size butt plug.
I can’t quite believe we’re heading into May already. Time flies by. With gardening season ramping up, I’ve been busy prepping by visiting a lot of garden centres with Eileen. They nearly all have gift shops and coffee shops attached these days, and it would be rude not to sample the goodies on sale alongside the compost. Mind you, not to brag or anything, but I reckon my homemade cakes could rival anything that gets sold, for exorbitant sums, in most garden centre coffee shops. We had a lemon drizzle cake at the last one we went to. It cost near enough five quid and was as dry as dust. FIVE quid! For one skinny slice! Bloody robbers.
Anyway, as I’ve hinted for some time, I’ve had medical issues going on, and I’ve though hard about saying anything, but I might as well put it out there. There’s no easy way to say it - I have a brain tumour. It sounds dramatic, but don’t fret, houseboy fan(s) it’s not the worst kind. It’s non-malignant, at this stage anyway, but still, yeah, not great, eh? Given that my brain isn’t exactly robust to begin with, the diagnosis threw me into a tailspin, well, all of us to be honest. It took a while to adjust to it. I’ve been pretty scared, and a wee bit depressed, but I’m learning to live with the lodger upstairs. There may come a stage when ‘eviction’ becomes necessary, but we’re not there yet. It’s a meningioma, so it’s not actually ‘in’ the brain, but rather ‘on’ it, squashed between my brain and my skull. Intervention at this stage could cause more problems than it solves (again, due to my fizzy tendencies) so a monitoring situation is in play. According to the neurosurgeon, meningioma type tumours tend to be slow growing. Fingers crossed.
I’m doing fine at the moment and that’s what matters. I get a bit panicky now and again, when I get dizzy, or have a headache, or a migraine, etc. But, as Shane says, mindless fucking hysteria and overreacting has always been an aspect of my personality. Gee, thanks, Shane. So, it’s basically just business as normal. I’ll keep plodding away at Bits and Bobs, and hopefully finish it before my brain squatter erupts through the top of my head, spraying my weird thoughts about like streamers from a party popper.
Well, I’ve yakked long enough. I hope all is well in your particular necks of the wood. You never know what life is going to chuck at you, so take each day and make the most of it. Ciao for now, peeps.
Happy St George’s Day! Fear not dragon lovers. St George would be more likely to pat a dragon than slay it these days. Times change, my friends. What was de rigueur in AD 303 is no longer acceptable in 2026. Mind you, I secretly wish that armour would come back into fashion. There’s something very sexy about men in metal suits. I like a bit of canned meat.
Dick was supposed to have his carpal tunnel surgery today, but it had to be postponed because he came down with a massive case of the craps on Tuesday and, as he had no idea how long it would last, it was thought expedient to rearrange the surgery. God forbid he shit himself mid-op. It’s now scheduled for May the fourteenth. While not exactly looking forward to it, he’s accepted that surgery is a sensible option, not just for the sake of work, and art, but also for his extracurricular kinky capers. Carpal tunnel syndrome doesn’t align well with bondage activities.
So far, his stomach bug, or whatever it was, hasn’t transferred to either me or Shane, and hopefully it won’t. Dick blamed a dodgy lunchtime sandwich deal from Tesco, a sweaty BLT and a tepid mango snack pot. Shane and me reckon it’s more likely to be down to the stool softeners he swallows to counteract the effects of the codeine he takes for his hand pain. He’s not above scoffing down an extra Dulcoease just to avoid the possibility of constipation. He says he doesn’t want to risk doing an Elvis by straining too hard and having a heart attack on the crapper. It would be too embarrassing, said Mr Kink. I reckon dying on the bog with your pants around your ankles would be less embarrassing than being found dead in the buff, apart from a gimp mask, handcuffs and a mega size butt plug.
I can’t quite believe we’re heading into May already. Time flies by. With gardening season ramping up, I’ve been busy prepping by visiting a lot of garden centres with Eileen. They nearly all have gift shops and coffee shops attached these days, and it would be rude not to sample the goodies on sale alongside the compost. Mind you, not to brag or anything, but I reckon my homemade cakes could rival anything that gets sold, for exorbitant sums, in most garden centre coffee shops. We had a lemon drizzle cake at the last one we went to. It cost near enough five quid and was as dry as dust. FIVE quid! For one skinny slice! Bloody robbers.
Anyway, as I’ve hinted for some time, I’ve had medical issues going on, and I’ve though hard about saying anything, but I might as well put it out there. There’s no easy way to say it - I have a brain tumour. It sounds dramatic, but don’t fret, houseboy fan(s) it’s not the worst kind. It’s non-malignant, at this stage anyway, but still, yeah, not great, eh? Given that my brain isn’t exactly robust to begin with, the diagnosis threw me into a tailspin, well, all of us to be honest. It took a while to adjust to it. I’ve been pretty scared, and a wee bit depressed, but I’m learning to live with the lodger upstairs. There may come a stage when ‘eviction’ becomes necessary, but we’re not there yet. It’s a meningioma, so it’s not actually ‘in’ the brain, but rather ‘on’ it, squashed between my brain and my skull. Intervention at this stage could cause more problems than it solves (again, due to my fizzy tendencies) so a monitoring situation is in play. According to the neurosurgeon, meningioma type tumours tend to be slow growing. Fingers crossed.
I’m doing fine at the moment and that’s what matters. I get a bit panicky now and again, when I get dizzy, or have a headache, or a migraine, etc. But, as Shane says, mindless fucking hysteria and overreacting has always been an aspect of my personality. Gee, thanks, Shane. So, it’s basically just business as normal. I’ll keep plodding away at Bits and Bobs, and hopefully finish it before my brain squatter erupts through the top of my head, spraying my weird thoughts about like streamers from a party popper.
Well, I’ve yakked long enough. I hope all is well in your particular necks of the wood. You never know what life is going to chuck at you, so take each day and make the most of it. Ciao for now, peeps.